From the mouths of beasts and other creatures
by tokeiF
Summary: Nations and interactions with their animals. China, Japan, SuFin, Canada, England, Pochi, Hanatamago, Kumajirou
1. China, Diplomacy

_How have you been?_ China asks as the panda nuzzles his hand fondly. _Have they been treating you well, my treasure?_ This one he carried with him in his basket on his back as a cub, this one he cradled in his arms when it was born. This one he named with words of prosperity and longevity, and these two he chose to send off on a plane across the ocean as gifts of friendship and alliance, his trust wrapped in black and white.

The other panda puts its paws on his chest, almost pushing him down with its weight, and looks up at him with a question. China smiles and pets it, glad it hasn't forgotten that this artificial world isn't its real home. _Soon, very soon,_ he answers as the American zoo-keepers approach. _Your brothers and sisters are waiting for you as well._


	2. Japan, Summer days and nights

It is summer, and Pochi is chasing fireflies around the yard. A few of the bugs land on his nose, tickling it and making him sneeze, little puffs of breath blowing starlight back into the night sky. A stray breeze brushes against the wind chime hung up for the season, and it rings softly as Japan calls from the walkway, one hand patting his lap in beckoning.

Pochi climbs into Japan's lap and curls up there. Japan makes soothing noises as his fingers move smoothly through freshly washed and dried fur, and the dog burrows further into his master's stomach. His own belly is comfortably full, his body warm and the fingers on his head are rubbing his ears in the way he likes best.

Pochi dozes off and dreams of cotton white clouds, green grass and blue kimono sleeves.


	3. Sweden and Finland, Bear and Bird

The snow is especially cold and the wind fierce that night, so Hanatamago slips through the bedroom door on the heels of the smaller big person in search of somewhere warm to sleep. The other big person is there as well, with the large, rough hands and low, rumbling voice like thunder over the hills. Hanatamago thinks of him as the bear big person although he has no fur and no claws and his teeth are not as long and sharp. But he walks like one, large feet making the wooden floorboards tremble as he does, and when he speaks his voice vibrates comfortably through the little dog's body.

Hanatamago is small, but she is resourceful. Tiny teeth bite the edge of the blanket; small paws and claws lift and scrabble and jump until she is finally on the bed. The bear big person on the other side of the bed is talking to the other big person with the bird voice and hair, but stops and looks at the dog from behind the shiny metal things on his eyes.

Hanatamago sits and waits, expectant. Large hands gather under her belly, scooping her up. The puppy looks up as "'t's cold t'n'ght" rumbles overhead and through her bones, and she is laid down on soft down, feathers brushing against her fur from beneath the cloth.

The pillow dips, and blue eyes stare into Hanatamago's black ones, the shiny metal things gone now. The dog lifts a paw to pat them, only for a large warm hand to gently press down on her head. "G'n'ght, F'n. G'n'ght, H'n't'm'go." She closes her eyes and buries her nose into her chest as the smaller big person says the same from the other side, a smaller hand covering the big one on her back.

The wind rattles the windows harshly while stray drafts chase each other across the wooden floor. Hanatamago nestles in feathers and sleeps, warm and content between her bear and her bird.


	4. Canada, My first friend

Kumajiro has no concept of time, the days and nights layering and blending together in a cycle of eating and sleeping and being carried around, but he remembers the big human as a much smaller one. There is a day he holds on tight to Kumajirou, burying his face in his fur and making strange noises. Salty rain falls on his stout when the bear looks up, the fur on his neck and chest damp and made still wetter by it. He pats the small human's face curiously with a paw.

_What's wrong?_

There is a keening sound, high-pitched and long. He doesn't want to stay in England's house, the boy says, his voice dry and sobbing. England says that he isn't to see Papa anymore but he misses him so much, Papa Papa _I want my Papa!_

Kumajirou recalls this Papa as a big human much taller than this small one, large and bright and shining, with a voice singing strong and melodious _Canada, Canada, my little rabbit, have you been well, my heart?_ Silver buckles flash on the ground as he bends down to pet him, lace-ringed and perfumed hands which he nuzzles in greeting as the small human cries _Papa, Papa!_ And the bear is brought out of his remembrances by arms tightening around his middle, a thin voice asking why everyone always leaves, why have things turned out this way? _I don't want to be alone again!_ he cries, and buries his face once more into Kumajirou's chest.

_But I'm here._

Watery purple eyes blink, and more rain falls.

But you too will die one day! he weeps.

_No I won't,_ Kumajirou answers. _I'll live as long as you do._

But you are just a bear, the child sniffs. Kumajirou shrugs and yawns, as if to say it does not matter.

You promise? he whispers, his nose almost touching his pet's. Rolling his eyes at the disbelief of humans, Kumajirou raises a white paw and lightly smacks the boy on the side of his head.

_I don't know who you are but I will stay with you, if you will feed me and brush my fur and take me with you wherever you go._

The little face lights up, a small sun to the larger one gone now. I promise!

Kumajirou sniffs. _I'm hungry. What's your name?_

I'm Canada!

_Who?_


	5. England, The dragon in the attic

The dragon is old, older than any nation will ever be, its thin wings tattered as fine as paper. England sets the oil lamp on the floor next to him and kneels before it. He strokes it once, twice, his fingers running over stumps of broken horns on its head and the rough ridges of its crown. The dragon opens one yellow eye, black slited iris sliding fast into place, and looks at him.

_I was a king once. And so were you._

It coughs, steam and smoke and green sparks spluttering between dry blunted teeth and raising the dust on the floorboards.

"It's all right," England says. One hand slides gently under its stout and tilts it so that golden eyes meet green. "In their hearts they still believe."

The dragon looks again, deeper this time. In England's heart it finds its throne, in his hair its gold. The nation's eyes hold the skies of long, long ago, when the land was green and large and infinite and the plains unrolled endlessly beneath its wings. It finds in his bones the spirits of kings and emperors who fought and ruled with pride and steel and flesh, and the knights and saints sent to slay and rescue and steal.

Ancient claws scratch briefly on the wooden floor, now cracked and faded to a dull ivory reflected in the light of the lamp next to England.

_My legacy,_ it commands, still regal despite the centuries and scars weighing down heavily on its skin.

England bows formally, one hand on his breast. "It will not be forgotten." The scaly neck sinks back down, secure in the knowledge and the nation's promise.

England stays there for a while, watching the flickering flame of the lamp cast shadows that dance over the dragon's leathery hide, and he is reminded of the days of caves and blood and fire.

He turns to look out of the attic's solitary window. A fiery roar echoes through his mind, and in his eyes great clawed wings spread and compress the sky.


End file.
